What Fury Did
by Sarnysse
Summary: (Mild profanity.) "Director Fury, may I have a moment of your time?" For the supremely unflappable, invariably practical Phil Coulson to ask for a private meeting, something had to be seriously wrong. Fury tried not to visibly wince. Had he discovered the truth about his rehabilitation in Tahiti?


"Director Fury, may I have a moment of your time?"

For the supremely unflappable, invariably practical Phil Coulson to ask for a private meeting, something had to be seriously wrong. Fury tried not to visibly wince. Had he discovered the truth about his rehabilitation in Tahiti? Or was there simply something amiss with his newly assembled team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?

"I am at your disposal, Agent Coulson," he replied, keeping his voice as neutral - and ambiguously threatening - as possible. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the truth from his best agent for long, but he had no intention of offering any apologies. The world had changed, and they needed every advantage they could get.

When they stopped into his office and shut the door, Agent Coulson seemed oddly inattentive, staring off into the distance, as though he didn't want to breach the subject.

"What was it you wanted to discuss with me, agent?" Fury prompted, impatient. He assured himself it wasn't guilt, only a lack of time, that made him impatient.

"Sir, as you might imagine, the trauma of my experience prior to the Battle of New York left me with fractured memories. I don't like operating without full information, so I've spoken a number of times to Agent Hill about her recollections, hoping to refresh my own memory. In the course of these conversations, she let slip something I don't think you had any intention of my learning."

Silently, Fury cursed Hill. He thought she'd known how important it was to conceal the truth from Coulson. His ignorance protected him - and protected them from losing him. How could she have been so indiscreet? He'd known she'd had a great deal of sympathy for Coulson's experience, but he'd always judged her as a person who had her priorities, her loyalties, in order.

"After Loki stabbed me," Coulson continued, still not meeting Fury's eyes, "I don't remember anything for a long while. So it didn't occur to me until later, when I began to piece some things together, to wonder how certain things had happened."

"What did Hill tell you, Agent Coulson?" Fury said, letting the chill seep into his voice.

Instead of answering, Coulson reached into his jacket. Instinctively, Fury reached for his own piece, but when Coulson's hand reappeared, it wasn't holding a gun. Instead, he held something small and light, which he flicked onto the table, finally looking up at Fury, his eyes narrowed.

Captain America trading cards. Covered in blood.

_Oh, shit._

Fury had forgotten. No, he'd thought it was unimportant, given the mess that had happened afterwards. But now it came back to him: after abandoning Coulson to the Helicarrier's medics, opening his locker with the key he'd slipped from his pocket. Pulling out the trading cards and peeling off their plastic covering. Later, throwing them down on the table in front of Rogers and Stark to remind them of Coulson's sacrifice and prompt them to take action. It had worked.

But no one had ever told Coulson. Until now.

"I don't think you understand," Coulson said, his fury barely under control, "how hard it was to find these. They were the last complete set that had survived from World War II. _They. Were. Mint. In. Package._"

He picked one of the cards back up. It showed the Captain in one of his traditional heroic stances, helmet and shield in place, the helmet smeared with a red stain.

"What did you even do to them? Did you rub them in some dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's blood? Did you just _prick your finger_? Was the gesture dramatic enough for you? Were you satisfied by your destruction of the only remaining full set of Captain America trading cards?"

"Coulson!" Fury snapped. "You weren't there for the Battle of New York. You don't know how close we came to losing it all. Everyone made sacrifices. Pull yourself together."

Coulson was breathing hard, but no longer raging. "They were _mint in package_, Director."

"And I am sorry, Agent Coulson. Would it make you feel better if I said I had let no one's blood but your own touch them?"

Coulson cracked a smile, then immediately squashed it. He walked to the table and carefully gathered up the cards. It looked, Fury now realized, as though he'd carefully swabbed at them with a wet sponge or towel, though he hadn't been able to improve their condition much.

"You know what the worst thing is about what you did, Director?" Coulson asked as he turned to walk out the door again. He sounded downright cheerful. Fury wondered how long he'd been keeping this bottled up.

"What, Agent Coulson?"

"_You didn't even get them signed_."


End file.
